


Wrought by Faith

by demeritus



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Era, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demeritus/pseuds/demeritus
Summary: Galahad has spent his life preparing to achieve the Holy Grail, but he cannot succeed without the only knight who has already seen it.
Relationships: Galahad & Percival (Arthurian), Galahad/Percival (Arthurian)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	1. Fear

It was a year since Percival had taken up residence in Camelot. He spent that time trying to be discreet. He might have been a knight, but he was still the youngest and newest, and his reputation preceded him. Everyone knew about the Welsh kid who showed up out of nowhere one night, demanded knighthood, then killed and stripped the most dangerous villain in the land before riding off again to parts unknown. His encounters with King Arthur’s knights in the following months cemented him as a capable and honorable warrior.

Everyone agreed that what he had in natural skill was diminished by his ignorance. As if supernaturally, news of his failure to cure the Fisher King spread throughout the realm. It was Gawain who had found him in Rivington Wood, a year after Percival had given up his mother and sister for dead and lost all sense of his purpose. Gawain took him to Camelot and Arthur was quick to give him a place among his knights - for all some blamed the young man for recent battles and famines, Arthur was not going to turn away the son of his greatest knight until Lancelot, an accomplished man in his own right.

So, despite a creeping impulse toward the otherwise, Percival stayed quiet, trained if anyone asked, and tried to seem as friendly as possible. He spent most of his time with Gawain, who spent most of his time with Lancelot and Mordred. None of them talked about Percival’s past and Percival said nothing about where he came from.

Another year later, at Pentecost, seemingly from nowhere, Galahad arrived. Everything about this new knight, who Percival thought seemed even younger than him, was as smooth and practiced as Sunday mass. He was too far back in the crowd to hear what was said during Galahad’s entrance, but when Percival watched him take the seat that the whole of the Round Table avoided like the plague, his curiosity sparked. Some of his questions were soon answered as the castle exploded with talk of Galahad, who was said to be chosen by God himself to achieve the Holy Grail. These altogether random things - the Siege Perilous, the sword pulled from the river, the certainty with which Galahad spoke of this as his destiny, drove Percival toward opposite impulses; to spend as much time as he could with the so-called Grail Knight, and to stay far, far away from him.

*

“They say you’ve seen it.”

A quiet, clear voice pierced through Percival’s silent contemplation on the margins of the practice grounds. Galahad was barely taller than him - about Gawain’s height, though he had never seen the two of them together - his long, golden hair half tied back to drape his face and frame his shining brown eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sir?” Percival asked, slowly waking from his daze. He hoped his nerves were hard to see behind his half-awake demeanor..

“Pardon me, this is not a good time.” Galahad bowed slightly and started walking away

“No! It’s fine! I just, I wonder what you meant.” Percival rose to his feet and almost unthinkingly grabbed the other man by his shoulder, but he pulled back before he could.

“You’re Sir Percival?” Percival nodded, shrinking back into himself but keeping his body language open. 

“I’m Galahad,” he bowed again. “Forgive me, I am not one to listen to gossip, but I was told that you have been in the presence of the Holy Grail; not the usual kind of rumor.”

Percival was surprised that the story had reached Galahad. He had hoped it was long forgotten

“Oh. The Grail?...Me?...Of course not...They say no one has seen it for hundreds of years...Some people think it’s fiction, as well...I know nothing about it.”

Percival might have seemed too dismissive of the subject, but Galahad’s expression remained blank.

“Hmm. Sorry to bother you, then, Sir.”

Galahad turned to leave and again, Percival called out.

“Wait.”

Galahad looked back.

“If you have the time...it’s not a bother. Just, anywhere but here? I know a place, more private if you don’t mind. I would really prefer it.”

Galahad’s brows furrowed and he stared at Percival for a moment, though never looked him in the eyes, before smiling slightly. 

“Lead the way,” Galahad said.

Percival took them on a winding path to the second floor of the east wing. After more turns than seemed possible, they entered a room of bookshelves - a small library no bigger than a bedroom, with two austere wooden chairs and a short table between them. It was an interior room with only one door, close to the armory but tucked far enough away in a corner that few passed it regularly. It was empty, but lit.

“It must have some purpose, since they still care for it,” Percival said. “but I’ve never seen anyone else here. It’s a good place to be alone.”

Galahad was scanning the books whose spines faced him as he walked inside, but Percival was sure to interrupt him before he could comment or ask a question about the titles.

“Would you like to sit down? I can tell you that story, if you like.”

Galahad sat, followed by Percival, and they waited in silence for a few moments, both believing the other would start.

“Why are we here?” Galahad asked. Percival was struck by his bluntness, but nothing in Galahad’s tone was impatient or angry. As much as his presence made Percival feel like he was being judged inadequate by a priest, the younger knight was only polite and demure.

“You asked about the Grail, and I...I lied. I mean, I hid the truth, mostly. It’s not something I like to think about, and I hate that people are still talking about it…”

Percival stopped himself and took a breath, looking into the flame of the candle that sat on the table between them.

“You do not know me, but you will not think well of me when you know any of this. You probably already know, though, what I did, or didn’t do. They find it funny.”

Percival tried his best not to look miserable and ashamed, but he was never the best at controlling his expression. For all his bravery, his honesty shone through more than anything. He avoided looking at Galahad - he did not want to see that beautiful, placid face shift toward annoyance, or worse, pity.

“I try my best to bring honor to the king, now,” Percival started reciting the words he had once practiced for the moment he hoped to see his mother again. They felt dusty, and almost profane to speak to anyone else, but he did not know how else to defend himself.

“I pray to God for redemption, for strength and humility, every day. I don’t talk to anyone else as often. I might be a fool, like they say, but I know where to look to be saved.”

Percival became quiet and looked at the floor. Galahad waited for him to continue but soon realized he would not.

“I would like to hear your story if you are willing to tell it. What others say does not matter; they’re the fools for judging you as only our Lord can.”

Percival was pleasantly surprised by Galahad’s sympathy. He still spoke slowly, and nervously, but he looked toward the other man this time, avoiding his eyes as before.

“I was very young...I had no idea what I was doing. A few months earlier, I had no idea what a knight was. I thought perhaps they were angels, in their gleaming metal, and even when I learned they weren’t...I liked to think they were earth’s angels, because anything so beautiful must be holy. I left home and a kind man taught me everything he could, and I rode across Wales and Logres on a quest for nothing in particular, not even God’s work, though I prayed every day and attended every chapel I found. I knew only three laws that I lived by: remember the Lord God in everything and always attend mass - my mother told me that. Find adventure and extend justice on behalf of Him - that one I gave myself. And say little, only that I was made who I am by a good knight. The man who taught me said that the way I spoke before made people take me for a fool, and that they would take advantage of me and not treat me seriously.”

Percival paused here and shifted uncomfortably. He looked at Galahad, who had been patiently listening with that blank look again.

“I stayed at a castle one night. It was the grandest place I had ever seen - and that’s including Camelot, which I had visited once. I had never seen so much food, and so delicious, in one place, and everyone who attended the feast seemed perfect. The castle was kept by a man with some sort of affliction. He could not walk, but I sat next to him as we ate and he gave me an elegant sword, and we watched as strange women paraded even stranger objects back and forth. Every few minutes, they would carry these things into a nearby room; a lance with blood running from it like it was injured, a huge, lit candelabra, a silver plate with...with a head on it...and a chalice. They carried these things to and from the room maybe ten times during the meal, and I watched them, and wondered what they were, but I did not dare ask. I didn’t want to seem ignorant, or rude, after their hospitality. The night ended and I left the next morning and everything seemed fine.”

Galahad’s attention had grown more excited when Percival mentioned the Grail, and dissipated when it was not mentioned again.

“I found a woman crying in the woods - it’s strange how often that happens, really - and I asked if I could help her. She. She told me...I had done the opposite. She said I was a scourge upon the earth for bringing war and famine with my misdeeds and I could not console her, because she accepted nothing I could say. She was my sister, who I had never known in childhood, but who knew what I was supposed to have done. If I had asked after the lance the night before, the ill king could have been saved, and if I had asked after the chalice, I would have been allowed to see the divine mysteries of heaven, because it was the Holy Grail that had fed us so fully that night. She said it was too late, that my one failure was sealed and that there was nothing I could do after condemning myself and the world. This all confused me, so I took her to a chapel nearby where she could rest. I asked the priest there if he knew what she had spoken of, and he told me the same thing.”

Percival sounded as if he was going to continue, but cut himself off, looking down again and resting his hands in his lap. Galahad sat in the same silence, and looked forward as the other man did, in contemplation. Percival braced himself for whatever might come next; he was used to the laughter.

Galahad stayed silent for a long time, but finally Percival looked to him and saw that his eyes were closed and his hands were folded in prayer. He seemed to be done soon after.

“I know,” Percival began without thinking, “it was wrong of me to say nothing in the presence of something so great. All I did was thank them but I didn’t know how kings like to boast about their treasures, and it never crossed my mind that asking questions would be seen as anything but rude. Everyone was irritated by it before. All I could think was I had been wrong to leave my mother in the first place, that I should have stayed on the farm like she wanted. I don’t know how much I believed that I had caused plagues and deaths, but I was so shocked by everything that it all felt real in the moment.”

“You made a mistake,” Galahad said loudly. “The ways of these things are mysterious, and most are not worthy. You made a mistake, but you still saw it. That is more than anyone else can say - more than I can say. You’re wrong about one thing. There’s something you can do to redeem yourself.”

Percival looked at Galahad, confused.

“Join me.”


	2. Acceptance

“There’s no map to lead me to the Grail, and no one knows what such a quest entails. But you - you know where it lives and you have taken hospitality from those who care for it. You would be my greatest ally!”

Percival’s eyes were wide in alarm. Compared to moments before, Galahad was downright exuberant. He almost thought the younger knight’s reaction was a joke.

“You do not want me involved with your quest,” Percival shook his head. ”It’s your purpose, not mine, right? I would only get in the way. I would make another foolish mistake. I would cause more harm…”

“Perhaps your purpose is to assist me.” Galahad spoke seriously, apparently trying to convince him with logic. “You hold such rare knowledge. Using it would not only be a service to me, but a service to God. Please, share your blessings with me.”

Percival bit his lip, holding back another barrage of arguments. He caught a glance of Galahad’s eyes; the candle’s flame reflected in them created a glint so bright Percival quickly had to look away. He smiled in apology then returned his gaze to his hands in his lap. He worried over what to say, hoping that Galahad would realize his hesitance and take back his request, but he had made it a religious issue.

“I...I’ll help you in any way I can,” Percival attempted an expression as serious as Galahad’s. “How - when - should I tell someone? When do we leave…?”

“We will know when the time is right. I’ll find you when that is. Be prepared to be away for the foreseeable future.”

Galahad smiled and Percival was so delighted by its honesty that he grinned back.

“Thank you, Sir.” Galahad bowed. “May God be with you!”

The younger knight walked away, and Percival was in such a daze he barely realized what had happened before he was gone.

“...and with you too!” He called out the door, more loudly than he had heard himself speak in a long time.

Percival sat in the library until supper, sitting with his short legs hanging off his chair’s arm, staring at the ceiling.

“It’s more of a purpose than I’ve had in a long time,” he thought, his panicked thoughts from earlier mellowing after a time to reconcile with his promise. “If I don’t ruin everything again...this might be the key to everything.”

Percival could not put it into words, even in the privacy of his own mind, but he hoped that helping Galahad would give him the anonymity he had craved. If he positioned himself just right in Galahad’s shadow, if everyone continued to focus on that perfect, gleaming boy and his divine purpose...they might forget Percival was there at all.

*

It must have been around vespers when he made his way to the dining hall, though the edicts and schedules of the organized church were still so new to him, he barely remembered. There were still tables half-filled with knights and squires, still energetic from training and clerks and servants rushing to return to work. Percival took a seat near the older knights, who tended to be more polite than those closer to his age. He ate quietly as they talked. Galahad was a popular topic, being the newest, youngest, and most ambitious addition to Camelot. Their tone regarding the same topic switched constantly between respect, pity, and amusement. Percival hadn’t taken the time to learn the names of many of those he didn’t work with, so he was even less prepared than usual to join them.

“Truly, I feel sorry for the boy,” one of them said between bites. “Imagine, such pressure at his age.”

“Ha! At his age, I thought I could and would conquer the world,” another said. “I thought I was God’s gift to humankind too. The difference is there was no one telling me I was right. Eventually I had to learn to work with other people, like everyone else.”

“It’s not as if he’s the only one,” a third said. “You heard how many others made the same oath.”

“But it’s his quest,” the argumentative one replied. “It’s his seat, it’s his sword, it’s his bloody purpose in life to be better than the rest of us!”

The knight spit on the floor, earning him some jeers from his companions.

“If he thought any different, he’d deign to talk to anyone but the king and his circle.”

“He does,” Percival surprised himself by cutting in, though quietly.

The trio glanced his way like they had only just noticed he was there. They obviously recognized him, from the corresponding looks on their faces.

“He talks to me,” Percival clarified, trying his best to hold together a confident expression.

“Does he now?” The rude knight asked.

“Will…” One knight said, shooting him a withering look, before turning to Percival and smiling slightly. “It will be good for him to have a friend. You too.”

“Oh! No,” Percival couldn’t help but blush. “No, it’s not - we’re more like allies, really; colleagues even.”

“So you see, I had the right of it. The chosen one has a squire in our Percival. Finally found something to do with yourself other than hide?”

Percival froze. His stomach twisted into knots and the thought of finishing his food abandoned with any hope of undoing his interjections. He knew what he should say, how to defend himself, even how to do it respectfully, but he couldn’t make himself do anything but stare and hope he didn’t look anywhere near as pitiful as he felt.

“So it’s true,” the rude knight said, laughing. “You’re as dumb as they say. I knew it the second I heard about it, I did.” He seemed to be attempting to commiserate with the other two knights, who themselves looked to be ignoring him. This did not deter his tangent. “I heard this kid burst into the hall, looking like he’d wandered out of the woods in his leather shirt, riding bareback, speech barely intelligible past that accent…”

He might have gone on longer, but Percival started to shut it out as best he could. He turned to face the table again, bowed his head and shielded himself with his arms. He could still make out what the knight was saying, but after a while, he was in another place entirely. He sat there, completely silent, until he was the only one left at the table. He only snapped back to himself when a chill came over him. He looked up through bleary eyes to see that he had not only outwaited his bully, but the entire hall. It was dark, and I few candles still burned as a few servants flitted around to clean, but he was otherwise alone. 

Percival walked to his room in a daze. He must have been obvious, because someone stopped him in the corridor. He was still out of it, so it took a moment for him to realize the owner of the concerned voice was Gawain.

“Hey - are you alright?”

“Yes, of course,” Percival said in a steady voice. He felt he had little control over himself, and his natural defences must have taken over.

“It’s just - I’ve been talking to you for a full minute and you’ve just stood there looking at me like I’m death itself.”

“Oh,” Percival blinked and scrunched his face. “Sorry. I was just...going to bed.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

Percival nodded and continued forward.

“How was your day?” Gawain asked as they walked, more out of politeness than anything, Percival thought.

“I talked to Galahad,” Percival said without thinking.

“Really?” Gawain seemed genuinely intrigued. “What about?”

“He wants my help to find the Grail.”

Gawain suddenly stopped, Percival mirrored him instinctually.

“Percival…” Gawain said, pity even more prevalent in his voice than before. He gently grabbed the younger knight by the shoulder to turn him toward his own face.

“You obviously need sleep, but I want you to find me tomorrow. I should be around the field after breakfast, otherwise, the archives.”

Percival nodded, too tired at this point to worry over what Gawain might want to talk about. Gawain looked at him for a long moment before releasing his shoulder.

They parted when they reached Percival’s room. 

“Goddamnit,” Gawain said, standing outside the closed door, before sighing and leaving for his own room.

Finally in private, Percival undressed mechanically and lay on his bed, scrunched into himself, staring at the wall. The events of the day played through his head; his story - he had opened up for the first time since joining Camelot. Galahad’s voice, his smile, how carefully and seriously he had taken all of it. Then, the faces of the two older knights as they watched their friend lay into him like an axe to a tree. 

His thoughts were not complex. He thought he might have found a purpose in Galahad’s quest, someone who needed him, perhaps, eventually, even a friend. In that moment, he had almost forgotten who he was, though as usual someone was well prepared to remind him. 

He wanted to find hope in Galahad, in his own usefulness, but his doubts rang truer the longer they ran through his head. He didn’t mind the thought that he was nothing but Galahad’s assistant, but they were right about another thing, he thought. Perhaps hiding was all he was good at anymore.


	3. Habit

Galahad’s routine had been the same for ten years or more. The only thing moving to Camelot added was people. People - though few, when he went to the chapel to pray at the canonical hours. People, far too many, to train with. People, an unimaginable amount, at every meal in the dining hall. He quickly took to piling his food on bread and taking it to some far away corner of the castle; he had considered the archives, so he could read while he ate, but the thought of having messy food around such precious material was almost worse than spending his time with everyone else. 

It wasn’t just the number of people, but the type. Galahad did not consider himself a judgmental person, and he was careful that his opinions - even those he kept to himself, which were all of them, never crossed into condemnation. It was difficult, reminding himself that it might be okay that he was just as capable of folly as the crude, ignorant, sinful people that surrounded him. He knew he was different, though. Special. The nuns who raised him had never failed to tell him, the king and his officials were just as quick to remind him, and those around him, just what a flawless, divine gift he was. Sometimes, Galahad imagined an alternate world where these praises had gone to his head, where he truly believed himself a saint, or perhaps, an angel given human form. He knew that would be prideful folly, but it sounded less painful than the reality.

Rather than assure him that he could do no wrong, all these exaltations made clear to him was that he was broken. It was a secret, he thought, that he had learned to hide as he grew older. It would have been clearer when he was a child, but his overseers’ discipline had taken care of that. Galahad still wasn’t sure what impulses and behavior had been beaten out of him, lessons learned and ingrained, and which he had simply hidden, unsure of what to do other than stop and listen. They were still there, though, lurking under the surface: envy for those with simpler lives, those who knew their parents and had friends, pride in his skill and studiousness, and in the rude comments that sometimes passed through his thoughts, asking to be repeated aloud. Had he been anyone else, he knew these were common human characteristics that everyone experienced. He wasn’t anyone, though; he was Chosen. He was supposed to be perfect, and perfection never stumbles. Galahad wondered if the Lord knew that His perfect creation was so flawed.

So Galahad did the only thing he could think of to make up for his imperfections. When he had first begun partaking of the sacraments as a youth, when he was made to memorize the prayers and the creeds and the stories, he had struggled at first. His overseers’ drilled him, though, urging him to practice constantly until it stuck. Eventually, it did, and now he would never forget the right words and the correct motions. Similarly, he knew who he was supposed to be. He remembered the lives and actions of the virtuous from scripture, and so he trained himself in their ways.

At the convent, he had been a blank hymnal, constantly being filled with words he would never be able to sing himself. At Camelot, he was a statue, and he made sure no one thought of him as anything else. If they saw even a glimpse of who he really was, they would know he was an imposter; and if he got used to it, he would forget who he was supposed to be and let himself slip more often. This went perfectly well until Percival.

Galahad listened to their stories, when the other knights dared to speak openly around him. Stories were the one pleasure he allowed himself, because stories always had lessons. It wasn’t always clear when they were being told, depending upon who was doing the telling. Gawain’s stories almost always had a punchline, whereas Tristan’s tended to end in tragedy. The stories often involved other knights he knew or had heard of, but they were so colored in jokes and judgment that he felt guilty hearing them in the first place. 

The one story someone told Galahad on purpose, because it was relevant to his interests, was Percival’s. After that, he noticed the other boy more often. Like Galahad, he seemed to keep to himself, but stayed in the back of groups on the rare occasions he was in them. He was there at Round Table meetings, though after a few days, he noticed that he had never heard Percival speak. Galahad himself said little unless it was necessary, but when he did, everyone - including the king, listened intently. Galahad expected to be met with all-too-usual deference.

What Galahad did not expect was for their first meeting to involve so much...expression. Not only from Percival, who was so quick to display his shame, but from himself. It might have been a reaction to Percival’s openness, but upon hearing his story, Galahad could not hide the strange energy that welled up within him. In Percival, he had a real lead, not some vague prophecy or mystical vision. And despite everything - despite his obvious doubts in himself, despite Galahad’s uncomfortable position on top of the world, Percival had agreed to help him.

He thought, perhaps, that it was because this was the first thing he had done on his own. No one instructed him toward it, or told him it was necessary to complete his mission. He had decided to make a connection, albeit professional, to another human being, and succeeded. It seemed silly to him, such a simple thing. All his life, he had imagined this path to be one he must take alone, if not above all others, aside from all others. At first, the atmosphere of Camelot and the expectations of the court seemed to confirm this. Then, as if sent by God Himself…

For the first time that he could remember, he was looking forward to the future; not for the trials and struggles of his quest, or the far-away promise of heavenly bliss. He would have an ally, maybe even a friend, who, though he might not share in his destiny, would stand beside him as he achieved it. This conviction erased all doubt from his mind. The weight of the world, though it still sat solidly on his shoulders, felt different now. He might be getting ahead of himself, but it seemed to him that there was another hand offering to help carry it.

*

Soon after Galahad and Percival officially met, Lancelot returned from an excursion, probably some quest or another. He was met with a feast and a commendation from the queen. For the first time since Pentecost, Camelot was focused on someone other than Galahad. 

Though they sat next to each other at the Round Table, they had not spoken since the day Lancelot had knighted Galahad. It was an open secret that the two were father and son, but there was tension between them regardless of whether or not anyone else knew. Galahad handled it by avoiding Lancelot at all costs. He did notice, though, that whenever they were in the same place, his father looked at him often. He was not the best at reading facial expressions, but he could swear that the look was one of sadness, or fear.

Following the revery of his return, Lancelot was asked to personally accompany Guinevere while she walked her gardens. Upon reporting for duty, he found the queen sitting on a bench amidst bushes of magnolias, Galahad seated adjacent to her. They stood when Lancelot arrived, Galahad bowing to his father and Lancelot to the queen.

“Thank you for the formality, Sir Lancelot,” Guinevere said brightly. “There was an intruder recently and my husband’s seneschal insists we take extra precautions.”

“At your service, my lady,” Lancelot said, taking his position standing next to the queen.

“Sir Galahad was just telling me about Samson. His luxurious hair gave him remarkable powers that made him a legendary warrior. I wonder if that is why you keep your hair so wonderfully long?”

Guinevere’s tone was fond and teasing, but Lancelot attempted to stay stoic.

“Perhaps, my lady.”

“His cruel wife cut his hair and betrayed him, and he died escaping captivity. Women tend toward such fickleness, do they not?”

“Some may…” Lancelot said, growing tense. “But my queen’s heart is as loyal as any knight.”

Guinevere smiled, satisfied.

“Sir Galahad has been a font of interesting new knowledge. Have you heard the parable of the Prodigal Son, Sir Lancelot?”

Galahad, who had been examining the surrounding flowers while Guinevere addressed his father grew visibly uncomfortable. Lancelot was similar, but his mannerisms were hidden under his disciplined posture.

“I...do not know it.”

“Sir Galahad, would you be a dear and enlighten Sir Lancelot of this interesting tale?”

Galahad gulped, looking in Lancelot’s direction without looking straight at him. The queen looked between the two of them expectantly, with what Galahad could swear was an amused glint in her eye.

“It is a story of redemption,” Galahad said quietly and slowly. “A man gives his son his inheritance, and the boy squanders it all on wasteful luxuries. He returns to his father and begs for employment as a servant. Instead, his father rejoices at his return. His other son is jealous of his brother, for gaining their father’s approval. Their father tells him that his prodigal brother has earned praise, for returning with humility.”

Galahad finished abruptly and the three sat in silence for a few moments as Galahad did not want to continue and Lancelot had no idea how to respond.

“An improving lesson, do you not agree, Sir Lancelot?” Guinevere said at last.

“Indeed,” Lancelot said, shifting loudly. 

This continued for the better part of an hour - the queen prompting various stories out of both knights, both knights uncomfortably complying, until the church bells rang for nones and Galahad departed with his apologies to Guinevere.

After prayer, he took a chance and found the small library where Percival had told him about the Grail. There he found Percival again, this time splayed across the arms of his chair, asleep. He knocked loud enough to awaken him. Percival nearly fell out of the chair when he noticed Galahad.

“Sorry,” Galahad said, smiling. “I’m glad I found you. I was going to start gathering maps of the surrounding lands. Will you join me?”

Percival, standing up, stretching his legs, and rubbing his groggy eyes, looked at Galahad in confusion.

“Um, sure. Yes. You need my help?”

“Of course,” Galahad said, looking serious again. “We’re doing this together, aren’t we?”

Percival smiled and left with Galahad.


	4. Caution

Percival awoke with the sun and lay in bed for a long time. He stared into the darkness and let the dull images of his fading dreams float across his vision. It took quite a bit of stretching to realize that he was truly awake and several minutes longer until he was able to push himself out of bed.

He didn’t bother finding breakfast; his stomach was still in knots, a remnant from his condition the night before. He explored the training grounds with glassy eyes and, failing to find Gawain, made his way to the archives.

Gawain was lounging, as much as anyone could possibly lounge, at a table tucked away amongst the shelves, reading a small book. He greeted Percival immediately and bade him sit down. Percival nervously took the invitation, his eyes unfocused but gazing toward Gawain.

To Percival’s great relief, Gawain opened the conversation.

“It’s a nice day, isn’t it? I’ll be out there by the midday bells, but something told me it was a good morning for reading.”

Percival gave Gawain a quick smile then cast down his gaze, hoping Gawain’s subject would not stay for long.

“I think I’ll be training later, too,” Percival said.

Gawain surveyed Percival’s face - as much of it as he could see with the younger knight’s head tilted slightly downward. Though similarly clothed, the two were a study in contrasts; Percival’s slight shoulders betrayed his poor posture, he fidgeted with the edges of his tunic, his hair long, dark, and done in a messy braid. Although Gawain was indeed lounging more than sitting, somehow his posture looked impeccable from a distance. He supported his head with his left hand and neat red hair framed his scarred face. Gawain wasn’t judging Percival, but rather getting a sense for his mood; reading the words his body held that he kept inside.

“So. You and Galahad, huh?” Gawain said, his expression neutral and a curious tone to his voice.

Percival’s head shot up and though he could feel the blood rushed to his cheeks, he prayed Gawain missed their change in color.

“W-what?” Percival asked, much louder than before.

“You told me that Galahad convinced you to seek the Grail,” Gawain said, unmoved but for a small smirk. 

“Oh, yes. I decided to join him in his quest.”

“Quite the decision. You’re not the first to take that on since his arrival, either.”

Percival nodded, not sure where Gawain was going with this.

“When do you leave?”

“Galahad said we would know when,” Percival shrugged.

Gawain shifted his eyes to look toward the ceiling, thinking, then leaned back and crossed his arms casually.

“You must be preparing then, if it could be any moment,” Gawain said, still neutral.

Percival hesitated before nodding.

“The castle has been in a frenzy the last fortnight,” Gawain said.

“It seems like how it was before every other big quest that’s happened,” Percival said.

“This is different,” Gawain said. “This is also the first time you’ve taken part in it.”

Gawain more pointedly made eye contact with Percival, as well as he could, though Percival felt the older knight’s gaze deeply.

“It’s exciting,” Percial said, in a tone that wasn’t particularly excited.

Gawain sighed and leaned forward again, placing his hands on the table and looking at Percival like he was his younger brother.

“The court’s excitement, though not out of the ordinary, can be easily misread as helpful,” Gawain said, his tone now advisorial. “Most of the knights who want this are, quite frankly, idiots. Half of them truly believe they might succeed, half of them are going because it’s something dangerous to do, half of them are just following the lead. And really, no one knows what they’re doing in the first place. A supposed Christian holy relic is a far cry from an attainable goal.”

The dim, stuffy room, full of scrolls and pages that would never be of use to him, was beginning to weigh on Percival. He froze under Gawain’s gaze and nearly missed half of what he was saying. His mind was too occupied with discomfort. But he trusted Gawain, and tried to listen more intently when he noticed himself fading.

“This will be good for you,” Gawain said. “But I don’t want you to get your hopes up. Don’t think of this as anything but an adventure, and unless any oaths bind you to this path, notice well when you have done all you can do. Too many young knights are lost to foo- to unhealthy dedication.”

Percival’s posture corrected itself as he planted himself to his seat more firmly. His eyes were locked with Gawain’s.

“Were this a rescue mission, or something like, I would tell you differently. But this? This is unnecessary. Nearly vanity..”

Gawain paused then, giving Percival time to take in his advice. Instead, Percival closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His stiff posture loosened a bit, and when he opened his eyes and spoke, he was louder than he thought he could bear, matching Gawain’s volume.

“I’m still going,” Percival said, with confidence that surprised himself as much as Gawain. “For the first time since forever I’m _excited_ about something, Gawain. I’m not letting go of that. This is going to change everything, I know it. Not just for me, but-”

He stopped himself, realizing that Gawain would certainly not be interested in whatever religious nonsense had taken root in his soul.

“I promise I’ll watch myself,” Percival finished.

Gawain made a noise of acknowledgement.

“In that case, I would tell Kay and Bedivere,” Gawain said.

Percival flinched a bit this time, anxious now from his increased certainty. He made a regretful noise and Gawain gave him a questioning look.

“Yes, I should tell them…” Percival said.

“Is there some reason you wouldn’t?” Gawain asked.

“No, no, no reason.”

“Percival. We’re friends. What is this?”

Percival relented, his voice slow and careful.

“Nothing about Sir Bedivere...we’re fine. But...Sir Kay and I have never got on well.”

Gawain smirked.

“Kay doesn’t really ‘get on’ with much of anyone, you know. Other than Bedivere.”

“Do you remember when I first visited Camelot? Everything with the, uh, Red Knight?”

Gawain nodded, looking serious again.

“Quite the show, but it could have been worse.”

“I know my whole...entrance was foolish, but Sir Kay has never done anything to make it seem like his opinion of me has changed since then.”

“You did make quite a point when you sent a dozen knights here to shame him then broke his leg,” Gawain said with a slight smile.

Percival nearly panicked, to be reminded of his lost days of blind confidence, Looking back, though, he did not regret his actions toward Kay. He sighed.

“I’ll be facing worse things than Kay on this quest,” Percival said, masking his anxiety with an attempt at humor. “They’ll both be happy to see me training again, anyway.”

Gawain nodded, smiling as if with encouragement. 

“I’ll be wishing you luck,” Gawain said, taking his book in hand again. “You _and_ Galahad. For one who preaches mercy, your Lord practices it sparingly.”

The truth of Gawain’s statement hit Percival like a needle. He had long thought that his very life was a mercy, given in place of the punishment he might have had for his mistakes, but it never sat well with him. He tried to ignore that line of thinking when it arose.

“The Grail can do beautiful things,” Percival said simply. “Finding it will be good for _everyone_.”


End file.
